


The One Where Everyone Ships It

by CallieB



Series: Sterek Bingo 2017 [3]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Friends to Lovers, M/M, Sterek Bingo 2017, sbftl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-03
Updated: 2017-05-03
Packaged: 2018-10-27 19:05:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10814910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallieB/pseuds/CallieB
Summary: It starts with Scott. Then it's Erica. Even hisdadseems to be getting involved.“Hey, Derek,” Stiles says. “Do you think everyone is being weird at the moment?”Written for theFriends To Loverssquare on my Sterek Bingo card.





	The One Where Everyone Ships It

**Author's Note:**

> I think this is my number one favourite fic that I've written for this event - it just kind of flowed onto the page, which is not always the case for me! I'm super enjoying Sterek Bingo so far so I hope you like it too. As usual for me, this fic is set in a nebulous mish-mashy timeline where some characters are alive and some aren't just depending on what mood I was in when I wrote it.
> 
> As the attention-whore I am, I welcome all comments and kudos :) Hit me up on [tumblr](https://13callieb.tumblr.com/)!

Stiles doesn’t notice when it’s Scott, because Scott has a habit of being weird about things. That is, after all, one of the reasons they’re such good friends. So when Scott spends about half an hour chewing his bottom lip in the front seat of the Jeep when Stiles has dropped him home, Stiles just figures that whatever he’s trying to get out is something to do with Kira. Frankly, he doesn’t really want to know; Scott has never understood the meaning of the term _overshare_.

“Scotty,” he says patiently. “Spit it out.”

Scott gives him an awkward sidelong glance. “Um,” he says, and then stops. He takes a deep breath; Stiles waits with his eyebrows raised. “Do you think Derek is happy in the pack, now that he’s not the Alpha anymore?”

Obviously, he’s bottled out of telling Stiles whatever Kira-thing he’d been thinking, and picked on the first subject that he could think of. Stiles rolls his eyes. “Sure,” he says.

“I like Derek,” Scott says.

Stiles frowns at him. “Um, duh?” They all like Derek; he and Stiles are oddly good friends these days.

“Okay,” Scott says, and gets out of the car.

 

The next time it happens, he’s over at Derek’s place. This tends to be the case most days after school; Stiles does better at his homework when he’s got someone to bounce ideas off of, and Derek, for some reason, doesn’t seem to mind his constant stream of chatter. At least, he still rolls his eyes so hard that Stiles is afraid his skull might explode, and he threatens violence about twenty times a day, but it’s pretty much always facetious these days, and sometimes Stiles even catches him smiling.

When they first started hanging out – and Stiles can’t quite remember how that happened – Derek did not keep energy drinks in his fridge. Now he does.

Today, Scott is with him, because Kira and Lydia have gone shopping. This means that Stiles, Scott and Isaac are all sat around the kitchen table – Derek has had a kitchen table ever since Stiles dragged him to IKEA on the basis that living in a dilapidated loft without furniture when you’re rich enough to own the building is just sad – while Derek makes pasta and complains about them all eating him out of house and home.

Isaac makes a frustrated growly sound at his homework. “I hate math,” he says glumly. Isaac belongs to the Scott McCall, rather than the Stiles and Lydia, brand of school smarts. “Who the fuck cares about algebra anyway? When am I ever going to use it?”

“I’m sure it’ll be useful one day,” Scott says in a voice that says quite clearly that he doesn’t believe it but he’s trying to be a good Alpha. “Like when – when…” He looks helplessly at Stiles.

“When you’re cooking,” Stiles supplies, “and you’re trying to adjust recipe ratios.”

“I don’t cook,” Isaac says blankly.

Stiles sighs. “Okay, so when you’re filling up your car – which you will _one day have_ – and you’re trying to figure out how many gallons you can get with your $20. Or if you take out a loan to buy more ridiculous scarves, and you have to work out the interest to get yourself the best deal. Or you travel abroad, and you’re figuring out the currency conversion.”

Isaac huffs. “My scarves are not ridiculous.”

“Dude,” Stiles says.

“Okay, okay,” Isaac says. “I get it. Algebra is useful. Whatever. I still don’t get this.”

Stiles shakes his head a little bit. “I don’t understand you, dude. You live with _Derek_. How are you not taking advantage of that?”

“Huh?” Scott says. Derek throws a piece of dried pasta at Stiles, who tries and fails to catch it, his chair wobbling dangerously.

“Derek? Majored in math at NYU?” Stiles says. Isaac and Scott just look blankly at him. “You’ve heard of Derek, right? Tall, kind of grumpy?” Derek sticks his tongue out.

Isaac looks over at Derek. “You majored in math?”

“You went to NYU?” Scott asks.

Derek looks like he might be blushing a little. “Well, yeah,” he says.

“You didn’t know that?” Stiles says. He can’t actually remember how he found that out; it’s just one of those things he kind of assumed that everyone knew about Derek, like everyone knows that Lydia is headed to MIT.

Derek throws another piece of pasta at him, which makes him flail to the point that he knocks a pencil to the floor. Isaac says: “Not everyone talks as much as you, Stiles.”

“Hey,” Scott says, because he’s an awesome bro.

Stiles has already moved on, because if he got offended every time someone accused him of talking too much, he wouldn’t have time to do stuff. “Dude, tell Isaac the story about the guy in the hotdog costume during the calculus midterm,” he says, his voice muffled because he’s under the table trying to find his pencil.

Derek rolls his eyes. “It’s not that funny. I don’t get why you find that story so funny.”

Stiles laughs, because hello, that story is hilarious. “It’s a dude. In a hotdog costume. During a calculus test.” He pulls himself back into his chair, pencil in hand. “What’s not to like?”

“Hold up,” Isaac says. “What story is this?”

It doesn’t seem like Derek is going to tell it, so Stiles launches in. “So, Derek was like, halfway through his calculus midterm, when—”

“Yeah, when there was a guy in a hotdog costume,” Isaac interrupts, waving the story away.

“If you already know it, why did you ask?” Stiles huffs.

“I’ve never heard this story. I didn’t even know Derek went to college,” Isaac says. He turns accusingly to Derek, who’s stirring his pasta serenely. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Derek blinks at him. “It didn’t come up,” he says slowly.

Isaac narrows his eyes. “But it came up with _Stiles_?”

“Dude,” Stiles says, because it sounds like an insult even though he’s not quite sure how.

Isaac ignores him, looking at Scott and shaking his head. “I guess you were right,” he says.

“Right about what?” Stiles asks, just as another piece of dried pasta bounces off his forehead. He sticks his tongue out at Derek.

“Told you,” Scott says to Isaac.

 

The monster of the week, it transpires, is a kanima. Stiles feels that this is a let-down, because, as he explains plaintively to Derek while they’re driving to the scene of the most recent attack, they’ve already _had_ one of those.

“Isn’t that a good thing?” Derek says, his glorious eyebrows in a bunched-up line. “We know how to defeat it.”

“It’s boring,” Stiles says. “And complicated. What if he doesn’t have a Lydia?”

“I am unique,” Lydia says complacently from the back seat of the Camaro. She consented to sit in the back of the car only on the understanding that they did not take Stiles’ Jeep, which Stiles feels is slightly unjust but then, he _is_ getting to ride shotgun in the Camaro.

Derek gives Stiles a sideways glance. “I think it’s a girl, actually,” he says.

“Same difference,” Stiles says dismissively. “The point is, not everyone has, like, this pure love connection, or whatever. What do we do if this chick is universally hated, or something?”

“No one is universally hated,” Liam says uneasily, his glance flickering to Theo, who laughs gently and ruffles his hair.

“If _I_ can find someone, a simple kanima can,” he says, which is undoubtedly what Liam was thinking but didn’t want to say.

“Jury’s still out,” Stiles mutters. He oscillates between thinking the whole Liam and Theo thing is weird and twisted, and being oddly swept away by it. Hey, he’s a romantic at heart.

Scott is already waiting when they get there, with Kira on the back of his motorcycle, and it’s not long before Jackson’s sleek silver Porsche pulls up. Jackson has a sour look on his face, which is almost certainly due to the fact that Lydia opted to travel in the Camaro instead of with him. Malia, on the other hand, who has an almost giddy love of fast cars, looks delighted as she climbs out with Erica, Boyd and Isaac.

“Right, the whole pack is here,” Stiles says, swinging his arms.

“Stiles,” Derek says.

“No,” Stiles says firmly. “No, I am not staying in the car, or keeping a look-out, or in any way staying out of trouble. I am getting into trouble. I am getting right smack-bang in the middle of trouble.”

Erica giggles. “Say ‘smack-bang’ again,” she says.

“Smack-bang,” Stiles says obligingly.

“I love it when you talk dirty,” she says, blowing him a kiss. Derek frowns at her.

“Stiles, you’re human,” he says.

“Yes,” Stiles says, because it’s not as though he can deny it. “But I am a human with a baseball bat.”

“That’s true,” Scott says loyally. Technically, Scott is the Alpha, so really this decision should fall to him, but it’s pretty fair to say that Derek still takes the reins when it comes to their little night-time adventures.

“Stiles,” Derek says.

Stiles pouts. “That’s not fair,” he says. “That’s not a fair argument.”

“Was there an argument?” Jackson asks.

“Just because,” Stiles continues, ignoring this, “I’m the only one who can handle the mountain ash, doesn’t mean I should be left behind.”

“Stiles,” Derek says patiently.

“Yeah, yeah,” Stiles says. “Lydia may be immune to it, but she doesn’t have my spark of belief, if that’s actually a thing and not some bullshit Deaton made up.”

“I’m brilliant in other ways,” Lydia says airily.

“We should get going,” Boyd says.

“Oh, but—” Stiles says sulkily.

Derek levels him with a _look_. “You know that wouldn’t work.” Stiles sticks his tongue out.

Scott looks bewildered. “What wouldn’t work?”

“Yeah, but did you think—” Stiles says, even though he knows Derek did think, because Derek always thinks.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek says.

Stiles sighs. “Ugh, _fine_ , I get what you’re saying, but I don’t have to like it!”

“But he didn’t say anything!” Liam exclaims.

Theo looks amused. “It’s like watching foreign TV,” he says. Both Stiles and Derek turn to stare at him; he laughs, and leans fondly against Liam.

“I don’t get it,” Stiles says.

“Oh, _really_ ,” Lydia huffs irritably. “You’re _ridiculous_ , Stiles.”

“Um,” Kira says politely. “I hate to interrupt, but isn’t that a kanima watching us from the parking lot?”

 

It’s a little bit more noticeable when it comes from Stiles’ dad, of all people. It’s a few days after they dealt with the kanima, and the Sheriff has a rare evening off, so he and Stiles are hanging out in the living room watching something random and probably sports-related on TV just to spend some time together.

His dad approaches the situation in a typically straightforward manner. “You and Derek have been spending a fair amount of time together,” he comments, eyes on the television.

Stiles thinks about it. “Yeah, I guess so,” he says. “We’re pack.”

“You’re all pack,” his dad says. “You seem to see Derek more than the others, though. Except Scott, of course.”

“Scott’s the best,” Stiles says warmly, because it’s true.

“Stiles,” his dad says patiently. “Derek.”

“Right,” Stiles says. “Yeah, we see each other a lot.” He grins. “Did you know he used to do roller-blading in New York? Like, _regularly_?”

“I hadn’t heard,” the Sheriff says drily. He hesitates. “He’s a few years older than you.”

“Seven,” Stiles says distractedly. Scott has just texted him a very inappropriate picture that he can only imagine was meant to go to Kira. He deletes it as fast as he possibly can, sending back a shocked _DUDE!!!_ with several related emojis.

“I like Derek,” Stiles’ dad says doggedly.

Scott texts back an apologetic sad face, which makes Stiles snort and shake his head. “Yeah, Derek’s awesome,” he says.

“I thought I would mind you having older friends,” his dad says. He’s still looking determinedly at the television. “When it comes to Derek, though, I can make an exception.”

“Okay,” Stiles says. “Cool.”

“As long as you’re being careful.”

Stiles snorts. “He won’t even let me bring _water_ in the Camaro, let alone drive without a seatbelt,” he says. “I think I’m good.”

His dad sighs. “Stiles,” he says. “I wasn’t talking about the car.”

Stiles stares at him, confused. “Derek’s a pretty cautious guy,” he says. “I figured it was a natural response to having your family burned alive, but it turns out he looked both ways, like, eighteen times even before. Cora told me.”

The Sheriff looks heavenward as though Stiles is being very, very trying to his patience. “He works hard,” he allows, which is true. It was Stiles’ idea for Derek to start working as a deputy, and even Derek himself has to admit it was one of his better plans. “It would be nice if he weren’t so lonely,” his dad says carefully.

“He’s not lonely,” Stiles says dismissively. “Dad, can we change the channel? I don’t even know what sport this is.”

“Well, you can tell Scott I put it out there,” his dad says with a sigh. “Sure, son.”

 

Erica, being Erica, is a lot more upfront about it.

“Stiles,” she says sweetly, one evening when the entire pack is lounging around at the loft eating pizza and watching _Doctor Who_ , “when was the last time you got laid?”

Both Stiles and Scott choke on their Pepsis. “What?” Stiles splutters.

“Erica,” Boyd says quietly. She kisses him on the cheek, leaving a red lipstick stain.

“Are you offering?” Stiles asks. Erica rolls her eyes.

“No,” she says.

“Okay,” Stiles says. She waits; he sighs. “I don’t know, maybe eight months ago?”

“He’s talking about me,” Malia says loudly. “We used to have sex.”

“Not helpful, Malia,” Scott says under his breath, which doesn’t make any sense at all. Malia mimes zipping her mouth, sitting back in her armchair; Stiles frowns in bewilderment.

“What about you, Derek?” Erica asks in a honey-like voice. “Was it Braeden?”

“I didn’t like Braeden,” Jackson says conversationally.

“You don’t like anybody who doesn’t want to sleep with you,” Lydia says fondly, stroking his arm.

Erica folds her arms. “ _I_ don’t want to sleep with Jackson,” she says.

“Well, I don’t like you either,” Jackson points out. Erica nods, and then looks back to Derek, who’s sitting in an armchair looking like a rabbit caught in headlights, which is pretty funny in Stiles’ opinion given that he’s actually a werewolf.

“Um,” he says. “Why are you asking me this?”

“Good point,” Erica says. Her blonde hair whips Boyd in the face as she turns back to Stiles. “Stiles, when was the last time Derek had sex?”

“ _Erica_ ,” Boyd says, at about the same time as Stiles is saying: “I guess it was that guy from the video game store about three months ago, right?”

Derek grimaces at the memory, while Erica crows triumphantly. “He was weird,” he says.

“No kidding,” Stiles says. “Didn’t he, like, want to tattoo your name on his ass? After one date?”

“Aw,” Erica says mockingly. “That’s almost cute. You’d tattoo Derek’s name on your ass, wouldn’t you, Stiles?”

Derek snorts. “As if. Stiles is terrified of needles.”

“I’d do a transfer,” Stiles allows. “With a cheesy heart, and maybe a Chinese symbol or two.”

“Transfers are for kids,” Liam says loftily.

“Stiles collects Pokémon cards, and he still can’t do the monkey bars in the playpark,” Derek points out. “I think he qualifies.”

“Dude,” Scott says. “You can’t do the monkey bars? Still?”

“They’re really high!” Stiles protests, giving Derek a dirty look, because that was supposed to be a secret. Derek laughs.

“Woah,” Kira says.

“Yeah.” Isaac sounds kind of awed.

“What?” Stiles says, baffled.

“Derek just laughed,” Liam breathes. “Like, a real-life laugh, not a snigger or snort or whatever.”

“You’re so poetic, babe,” Theo says. Stiles has mixed thoughts on the use of the word _babe_. “Of course he laughed. It’s _Stiles_.”

“I am very witty,” Stiles acknowledges.

“And yet, so dense,” Theo says sadly.

 

Malia approaches Stiles at school. He’s standing by his locker, frustrated because he changed the combination and now he can’t remember the new one, and then all of a sudden, she’s standing right by his elbow. He jumps about a mile high.

“What is it with you Hales sneaking up on me?” he grumbles.

“We’re were-creatures,” she says helpfully.

“Got it,” Stiles says. He waits. “Are you okay?”

“Yes,” Malia says. She sighs deeply. “We broke up a while ago.”

Stiles frowns at her. “Yeah…”

“So we’re cool,” she says. “Right?”

They’ve been cool for months without needing to talk about it. “Of course we are,” Stiles says. “Why?”

“Scott says—” She breaks off abruptly, snorting irritably. “If you want to date someone else, I don’t care,” she says.

“Okay,” Stiles says, trying to work this out. “Are you telling me this because _you_ want to date someone else?”

She stares at him. “Who would _I_ date?” she asks. She shakes her head at him. “You really are clueless.”

“I’m happy for you, if you want to date someone else,” Stiles tries. “I don’t… I mean, I care about you, but not that way, anymore.”

“Yes,” Malia says, sounding relieved. “Me too. That. If you date someone, I’ll be happy for you.”

“Okay,” Stiles says.

“No matter who it is,” Malia presses.

“Right,” Stiles says.

“Even if it’s, like, someone I know really well. Or someone related to me.” That’s oddly specific, but trying to follow Malia’s train of thought is usually an exercise in futility. Stiles nods.

“Okay, Malia,” he says.

“So we’re cool?” she asks.

“Definitely,” Stiles says decisively.

“Awesome,” Malia says. “I’m going to go to class now. Tell Scott, okay?”

“Okay,” Stiles says, now totally mystified. “See you.”

 

The following Saturday, Stiles gets a text from Scott asking to meet him at the diner. When he shows up, Scott isn’t there, but Derek is; he’s sitting by himself at a booth with a cup of coffee and a chocolate brownie in front of him, looking like he’s waiting for someone.

“Hey,” Stiles says, going over.

Derek smiles at him. “Hey,” he says. “Are you waiting for Scott too?”

“He probably got caught up with Kira,” Stiles says with a long-suffering sigh, sliding into the seat across the table from Derek. “Can I have some of your brownie?”

“When don’t you?” Derek asks; indeed, Stiles has already taken a large bite. Then he says: “Are you looking forward to graduation?”

“I guess,” Stiles says, spraying crumbs everywhere. It’s a good fucking brownie. “I don’t know, man. When you’ve saved, like, the lives of everyone in Beacon Hills six times over, graduating high school doesn’t feel like that much of a big deal anymore.”

“I know what you mean,” Derek says consideringly. “You should try to enjoy it, though. I missed my graduation.”

“I know,” Stiles says. “You got that depressing party Laura threw at the nursing home when Peter was still comatose, though, right?”

“Well, yeah,” Derek says seriously. “That was almost as good.”

“Hey, Derek,” Stiles says. “Do you think everyone is being weird at the moment?”

Derek, who is used to Stiles skipping across topics without any preamble, thinks about it. “I guess,” he says. “Erica was a little more _Erica_ the other day.”

“Scott told me that he likes you,” Stiles says thoughtfully, licking crumbs off his fingers. “I think I’ve eaten your whole brownie, dude.”

“I got it for you, anyway,” Derek says distractedly. “Isaac said the same thing about you a few days ago,” he adds.

“Isaac said he _likes_ me?” Stiles gapes.

“He said that he’s glad we’re friends,” Derek replies. “And then he said he likes you.”

“Huh,” Stiles says. He frowns. “We’re pretty good friends, I guess.”

Derek looks amused. “I know your real name,” he points out.

“Yeah, well, I know about that thing in Boston—” Stiles gets out, before Derek reaches hastily across the table to clap a large hand over his mouth.

“We don’t talk about Boston,” Derek says severely.

Stiles licks his hand. “Okay, dude,” he says, his voice muffled. Derek takes his hand away, frowning at the wet patch where Stiles licked.

“Should we call Scott?” Derek asks, but Stiles is already texting.

“Scott says he can’t make it, but we should enjoy a coffee and a muffin,” he reads aloud after a moment or two. He sighs. “When will he learn that I don’t like muffins?”

 

It all kicks off at the next pack night. It’s Kira’s turn to pick the movie, which means that she, Stiles and Boyd are all totally engrossed by some subtitled anime while everyone else sits around lazily chatting, and then Liam accidentally sits on the remote control and turns the subtitles off.

“Hey!” Kira protests, because anime is one of the few things she actually gets upset about. “This is the best part!”

“Can’t you just translate it?” Erica asks.

Kira glares at her. “I don’t speak Japanese,” she says.

“I’ll do it,” Stiles suggests. He adopts a deep, rugged voice which is slightly modelled on Derek. “ _Honey, this spaceship is too small for your horse. You’ll have to find alternative means of transportation_.”

Kira sniggers. “What’s a horse doing on a spaceship, anyway?” she asks.

“Kira,” Stiles says seriously. “What’s pre-revolutionary France doing on a spaceship?”

“Get a little perspective,” Derek says without looking up from his crossword puzzle. Stiles snorts.

“Huh?” Scott says. Liam is looking between Stiles and Derek with his mouth slightly open.

“That’s a quote, right?” Isaac says.

“Did Derek just complete Stiles’ quote?” Jackson asks.

“Oh, for goodness’ sake,” Lydia says, sounding bored.

“Yeah, but where’s that _from_?” Isaac asks.

“ _Doctor Who_ ,” Stiles and Derek say together.

“Oh, for _goodness’_ sake,” Lydia says again, a little explosively. Everyone turns to look at her; she’s found the remote from somewhere and paused the movie. Kira looks a little scandalised. “This has gone on long enough.”

“What has?” Stiles asks.

“She’s got a point,” Jackson says. He looks oddly smug. Stiles rolls his eyes.

“You’d think she had a point if she said you look good in six-inch heels,” he says.

“I look awesome in heels,” Jackson pronounces grandly.

“That’s going to be fun to explore later on,” Theo says, “but I’m with Lydia on this. The subtle approach is not working.”

“What are you talking about?” Derek asks, sounding perplexed.

“You,” Erica says.

“Him?” Stiles says.

Scott sighs. “And you,” he says.

“Me,” Stiles repeats.

“Oh my God,” Liam bursts out. “Will you just fuck already?”

There’s a long, long silence. Scott looks like he’s afraid to breathe. Lydia has her eyebrows raised in an I-told-you-so kind of expression, even though she hasn’t told anyone anything. Jackson looks like he’s on the edge of bursting out laughing. Malia has an interested expression on her face.

“Um,” Derek says politely. “Are you talking about me and Stiles?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Scott says.

“Huh,” Stiles says. “Is that why you’ve all been so weird about things lately?”

“Stiles,” Malia says. “Even your dad thinks you should be together.”

Stiles thinks about it. Objectively, Derek is an awesome guy; he’s hot like burning, and he’s basically Stiles’ best friend, if you don’t count Scott, which is different because they’re more like brothers. He meets Derek’s eyes. “I never thought about it,” he says honestly.

“Me neither,” Derek says.

“How is that possible?” Liam asks.

“You finish each other’s sentences,” Jackson says.

“Stiles knows, like, _everything_ about Derek,” Isaac adds. “And Derek never talks about anything.”

“I do!” Derek protests, at the same time as Stiles exclaims: “Yes, he does!”

Theo gestures forcefully towards them both like that should prove some kind of point. “You guys, you talk without actually talking, and somehow you know what you’re saying,” he says. “It’s creepy.”

“I think it’s sweet,” Kira says.

“Derek doesn’t mind Stiles talking,” Scott supplies. Stiles, wounded, claps a hand to his heart; Scott shoots him an apologetic look. “I’m just saying. Some people might find it annoying. Not me, though,” he adds hastily.

“You’re both extremely smart,” Lydia says crisply, and then stops talking as though her work is done.

“Have you guys, like, discussed us? Behind our backs?” Stiles asks warily.

“All the fucking time,” Erica says bracingly. She shakes her head. “We were _hoping_ you’d figure it out on your own.”

Derek looks as shocked as Stiles feels. He looks around the group. “You all think we should be together? All of you?”

“Even I figured it out,” Malia says pityingly.

“Honey,” Erica says. “We ship you.”

 

They don’t talk about it until everyone else has gone home. This is mostly because Stiles likes winding up his friends, who won’t stop looking at him like they’re waiting for something, but also because it’s too confusing to puzzle through everything when the entire pack is watching him. He spends the rest of the evening watching the movie and trying to sort through his head.

He can honestly, genuinely say that he’s never really thought about Derek that way, and yet now that he thinks about it, he’s not sure why not. Derek is exactly his taste in a guy. He’s funny, he puts up with Stiles – as Scott traitorously pointed out – and he gets on with Stiles’ dad. And of course, he’s gorgeous. That one’s a no-brainer.

He keeps sneaking little glances at Derek across the room, which everyone clearly notices, because there’s a lot of eye-rolling and smirking going on; Derek looks somewhat pink in the cheeks, and he has an intense, considering expression on his face, like he’s going through the same thought process as Stiles.

“Well, I’m tired,” Scott says loudly as soon as the credits roll. “I think I’m going to go home.”

“Yeah, me too,” Kira says unconvincingly.

“Guys,” Stiles says wearily. “We get it. You’re leaving us alone.”

Derek is shaking his head, a small smile on his face. “We weren’t born yesterday,” he supplies.

Scott kind of looks around at everyone; they’re all putting shoes on as fast as inhumanly possible, like Stiles’ words have given them permission to stop pretending they’re doing anything other than getting out of the way. “Oh,” he says uncertainly. He grins at Stiles. “See you later?”

“Can I come with you?” Isaac asks him. Scott looks even happier, and Stiles grinds his teeth.

When they’re all gone, and the loft is empty save for him and Derek, Stiles decides that the time is right for a cup of coffee. Derek is almost religious about his coffee; his machine could put Starbucks to shame, and is probably the most expensive thing he owns apart from his car. Also, it gives Stiles something to do with his hands, because Derek is looking at him thoughtfully and he can feel himself blushing.

“So,” he says, his voice higher than usual as he moves into the kitchen. “That was crazy, right?”

“I wasn’t expecting it,” Derek agrees easily. He comes to sit at the kitchen table while Stiles brews up the coffee.

There’s a short silence while Stiles fusses around with mugs and teaspoons. His hands are clammier than usual, and he’s trembling, which is ridiculous. This is Derek. He _knows_ Derek; he knows about the thing in Boston that they don’t talk about. He knows Derek’s darkest secrets, his most embarrassing moments, his most insane decisions. This barely rates in terms of things they can talk about.

“Okay,” he says firmly, bringing the coffee to the table. “So. Let’s talk about it.”

Derek looks pretty chilled, but Stiles can see that he’s biting his lower lip, just a little bit, and he’s willing to bet that if _he_ could hear heartbeats, Derek’s would be going at a mile a minute. When he speaks, though, his voice is calm. “Okay,” he says. He hesitates. “What do you think?”

Stiles points a teaspoon at him. “Cop-out,” he accuses. He sighs. “I don’t know. You’re hot?”

“So are you,” Derek says immediately. Stiles huffs.

“You don’t have to say that, dude,” he says. “I do own a mirror.”

“Stiles,” Derek says seriously. “If you don’t know you’re gorgeous, then it’s defective.”

Okay, _woah_. Stiles blinks. “Um. Okay,” he says.

“Huh,” Derek says, as though he hadn’t been expecting to say that either. “I think I like you.”

“Like, like me like me, or _like_ me like me?” Stiles asks, aware even as he’s saying it how nonsensical it sounds. It doesn’t matter; Derek will get it.

“Both, I think,” Derek says. He looks Stiles up and down, his eyes raking from Stiles’ tousled hair down to his chest. “I’m definitely attracted to you,” he decides.

Something warm and pleasant fizzes in Stiles’ chest at that, which is an interesting development, because he thought that finding out Derek liked him in _that way_ might feel weirder. He finds himself looking at Derek’s mouth; it looks very soft. “Maybe I should kiss you,” he says before his brain can catch up. “Just to see,” he adds hurriedly.

Derek grins – there’s no other word for it – _wolfishly_ , looking positively delighted by the idea. “Alright,” he says, standing up.

Stiles pushes his chair back; it makes a loud scraping noise across the floorboards. He flinches. He’s really, really nervous. He can’t actually remember the last time he kissed someone, and this is _Derek_. He wants it to be awesome. But he’s also scared that if it _is_ awesome, it’s going to change their friendship forever.

He likes their friendship.

“I like our friendship,” he says anxiously.

Derek moves fluidly around the table, reaching up to touch Stiles’ cheek. Little tingles skitter across Stiles’ skin where Derek’s hand in. “We’ll always be friends, Stiles,” he says tenderly. His thumb – soft, so soft – brushes down Stiles’ jawline. “This doesn’t have to change that.”

Stiles closes his eyes, feeling like his entire body is on fire. “I feel like maybe it does,” he murmurs. Then, before he can second-guess himself, he leans forward and kisses Derek.

He can feel Derek’s beard tickling his chin, although his lips are just as soft as they’d looked. There’s a moment or two when it’s kind of awkward – there’s something hot and delicious going on at the place where their mouths meet, but they’re mostly just standing there, mashed together uncomfortably – but then Derek shifts just a little, and Stiles slides his hands up Derek’s chest and around his neck, and then it feels _awesome_.

Derek’s hand is still on his face; it slips around Stiles’ head and tightens on the back of his neck, sending shivers straight down Stiles’ spine. He presses his body closer to Derek’s feeling their chests slide together, and his arms tighten around Derek’s shoulders, and something jostles against Stiles’ cock and that’s just fucking _it_.

He moans without meaning to, and Derek’s hands tighten around him in response, his mouth opening. Stiles is gripped with a rushing, heated _need_ to be as close to Derek as possible, and he kisses hard and sloppy, humming contentedly as Derek’s nails scrape the back of his skull.

“ _Stiles_ ,” Derek groans into his mouth.

“Okay,” Stiles pants, his hands scrabbling to tug off Derek’s leather jacket. “This may… _fuck_ … have been one of Scott’s better ideas.”

Derek laughs breathlessly, kissing down the side of Stiles’ neck. “Stiles?” he says, licking into Stiles’ collarbone.

Stiles’ head tips back, and he moans aloud. “Yeah, got it,” he pants. “Shutting up.”

 

A couple of days later, the Sheriff does a Sunday roast for the pack. This is a slight misnomer, because the only thing he can really cook is the meat part, so while he makes sausage stuffing and bastes the chicken, Stiles rolls potatoes in goose fat and starch, peels carrots and parsnips, and makes up a bowl of hot buttered Brussels sprouts with roast chestnuts and bacon pieces. Scott’s mom brings over a cheesecake, and Scott lays the table because let’s face it, that’s all he’s good for in the kitchen.

“So,” Scott says when he’s done, leaning on the back of a chair and looking both awkward and hopeful at the same time. “You and Derek?”

“What?” the Sheriff says too quickly, poking his head around the door.

“Oh my God,” Stiles sighs. “You too, dad?”

His dad has the grace to look a little embarrassed. “Scott talked to me about it,” he mumbles. At Stiles’ incredulous expression, he goes on: “What? It made sense!”

“I don’t get it,” Stiles grumbles as the doorbell goes. Melissa, shaking her head, goes to answer it. “Scott and I are close. No one’s _shipping us_.”

Scott screws up his face, looking slightly alarmed. “I mean, Stiles, you’re a catch, but…”

“That would be weird,” the Sheriff says for all of them.

“It’s Derek and Isaac,” Melissa announces, leading them into the room. Derek is holding a bottle of expensive-looking whiskey.

“Hey,” Stiles says comfortably; Scott looks between him and Derek, frowning.

“Did it not work?” he asks, sounding beautifully confused. He looks at Isaac. “I really thought it would work!”

Isaac rolls his eyes. “You haven’t smelt the loft.”

“Yeah, come on, Scott,” Melissa says. “Derek brought _whiskey_.”

“I’m guessing that’s to win me over.” Stiles’ dad sounds pleased at the concept.

Stiles ignores all of them, because Derek is looking deliciously cute in his leather jacket, with a big happy grin on his face and just the slightest hint of a blush in his cheeks. “Hey,” he says to Stiles, and that’s when Stiles realises, in a revelation that’s not really surprising at all, that he’s totally in love with Derek.

“Hey,” he says again, and Derek smiles even wider.

“Yeah,” he replies softly. “Me too.”                                                                                             


End file.
